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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23007100">The boy next door</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ledbythreads/pseuds/ledbythreads'>ledbythreads</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebookhunter/pseuds/thebookhunter'>thebookhunter</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Boy Next Door [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Led Zeppelin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(WE know. all the zeppelings WILL feature.), (no spoilers though), (ours), (who knew it would come in so handy one day having lived in Birmingham for over 10 years!), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bad Shit Happens, Best Friends, Boys In Love, Catharsis, Established Relationship, Falling In Love, First of a series, Flower Crowns, Found Family, GIVE IT A GO THORKLINGS COME ON!, LGBTQ+ historically accurate, Learning to Dance, M/M, MORE AU ZEPPELINGS MIGHT FEATURE WHO KNOWS??, Not Canon Compliant, Origin Story, Period-Typical Homophobia, THEY'LL GROW UP AND ALL, Teen AU, Teen Romance, True Love, Under the willow tree, WHY DO WE DO THIS TO OURSELVES, Wildling!Robert, a shared passion for Elvis, an effort at research has had a thorough go at, and stuff, as we said not canon at all - especially their families, at some point, before it was even legal and only for adults, breaking our own hearts only to mend them later, britishisms, but it's sweet as fuck, even better: BRUMMIE-ISMS, growing up queer in late 50s in the UK, just a story about a boy called robert and a boy called jimmy, marbles and footie cards, mixing canon refs just for fun, not even canon divergent, paradise (lost and regained) (eventually), poor babies, this is not a happy story, two kids in the garden</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 09:55:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,729</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23007100</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ledbythreads/pseuds/ledbythreads, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebookhunter/pseuds/thebookhunter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"I don't know how I'm gonna tell you<br/>I can't play with you no more<br/>I don't know how I'm gonna do what mama told me<br/>My friend the boy next door."</p><p> <br/>A story about two queer kids called Robert and Jimmy growing up in Birmingham in the late fifties</p><p>November 2020 - This work is still in progress. It is just a weird year. If you want to read a little of these two while we work, you might like the drabble collection Tiny Flowers which is a companion to this fic https://archiveofourown.org/works/26238853/chapters/63865228</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jimmy Page/Robert Plant</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Boy Next Door [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1654225</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>80</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>76</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Marbles</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Leds:</p><p>So how do we write this thing? Well, for me it was like a trust game of exposing more and more of a very private process to someone else. What we do now feels very much like Zeppelin, ‘tight but loose’. Within the storyboard of the piece (Bookie as Jimmy - setting out where it was going to go and the rhythm of it), I come in, and either go offline to write a piece to match, or I write it live, with Bookie actually watching me type. It feels like improvisation and performance. You have to trust each other’s creative process, but it makes it feel incredibly alive. There’s no time to second guess or apologise or censor - you are just in the moment making words appear. Like early Zep albums, pieces are written in one or two takes, with minimal changes. Instead of a steamer trunk of tapes, we have a pile of online documents. Then Bookie mixes it down and does the overdubs. </p><p>This story is a queer blues. It happened to thousands of queer kids in the 60s - it is still happening. So the structure is traditional and the pain and sweetness is communal. Writing it is pulling those feelings out of the air and making them sing.</p><p> </p><p>Bookie:</p><p>Writing is usually an individual, solitary exercise. It was fine by me. I didn't know anything else. But this? This is like I'd been shut up in my room practicing piano by myself all my life, and suddenly going out there and finding a person to play with, with different strengths and influences, but the same passion and sensibility, and now I'm making a kind of music I dreamed of but wasn't able to do, because it took Leds. I'm trying new things and making new sounds, and my own writing is stretching and growing, and it's exciting. I don't remember the last time I was so excited about a story, and about writing. </p><p>It's a Coen Brothers fic. Or I'm Steven Spielberg idk. I run the show in close collab with my wildly talented co-captain whom I look up to. I play to my strentghs, and I use theirs. I tell them this is the scene, this is what I want, give me these emotions, give me this atmosphere, this is where it goes and this is what it means. And Leds sometimes says OK BUT WHAT IF, and you know what, Led's GOOD AT THIS STUFF. </p><p>And when they come back to me with something, it's always better than what I'd imagined, more vivid, more colorful, more alive, and more heartbreaking. And the result is not exactly me or Leds, but US. A duet. </p><p>I feel like Jimmy Page coming across Robert Plant.</p><p>THORKLINGS, GIVE THIS A CHANCE. Where it says Jimmy write Loki, where it says Robert write Thor. TRUST YOUR BOOKIE, YOU'LL BE AMAZED.</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Where you from then” Robert asks, side skipping the question of Mr Reid’s matchmaking of his neighbours’ children.</p><p>“London”</p><p>“Oooh” Robert bites his lip. He’s making himself look daft. But maybe the kid has been to Wembley.</p><p>“What footie team do you support then?” There are loads in London. Robert puts the crate down. It has nearly pulled his arms off.</p><p>“I rather think you will be disappointed. I don’t particularly care for football”</p><p>The kid is clearly barmy. Interesting."</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>BOOKIE:  This one's by Leds from start to finish. I haven't touched one comma. You don't mess with perfection.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Carrying the crate of pop bottles with the box of crisps on top he almost doesn’t see the lanky kid in the velvet page boy suit. The hallway at the back is narrow and the kid is probably not meant to be here, but he must belong to the other lot because Robert has never seen him before. Like at most wedding receptions the boys are mostly running round and sliding on their knees across the dance floor. Robert has stripped down to his vest and trousers and even so his vest is coming untucked. This kid though looks very buttoned up. Has his flower thingy still on. A floppy bow tie. Blimey.</p><p>“I’m looking for Robert Plant”.</p><p>He doesn’t sound enthusiastic. He talks funny. Posh. Robert is not sure whether to tell him. He looks a bit of a pain in the bum. Maybe he has some different cigarette cards though, or marbles. Robert has collected all the ones the local kids have got. He’s been trying to get a full set for ages but seems to keep missing his chance.</p><p>“That’s me.”</p><p>“Oh I thought you were the errand boy”</p><p>“No I’m just helping. My dad is a mate of the landlord… Why?” Snooty pants. He thinks.</p><p>“Mr Reid. From church? He said that I might play with you. Because we have moved recently to number 93, Walsall road” He finishes unnecessarily.</p><p>“Where you from then” Robert asks, side skipping the question of Mr Reid’s matchmaking of his neighbours’ children.</p><p>“London”</p><p>“Oooh” Robert bites his lip. He’s making himself look daft. But maybe the kid has been to Wembley.</p><p>“What footie team do you support then?” There are loads in London. Robert puts the crate down. It has nearly pulled his arms off.</p><p>“I rather think you will be disappointed. I don’t particularly care for football”</p><p>The kid is clearly barmy. Interesting.</p><p>“You don’t collect footie cards then?” Maybe he will just give them away for nothing then. Crazy idea.</p><p>“I’m afraid father smokes a pipe”<br/>
Robert has never heard the like. The kid makes his brain itch. Makes you want to poke him to make him cheer up.</p><p>“I’m doing a turn in a bit”</p><p>“Pardon?”</p><p>“Singing. Before the band. The lady who got married is my mum’s friend’s sister so I said I would” He jiggles excitedly and the kid smiles properly for the first time.</p><p>“I’d like to see that very much” He says. He is crackers, but maybe nice too. “Mother said I might invite a boy round for afternoon tea on Saturday. We have a record player”</p><p>Really. That is interesting.</p><p>“What about marbles? Have you got marbles?”</p><p>“Yes I do. I get my own pocket money you see. From choir.”</p><p>Paid for singing. Blimey. That’s London for you.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Hide. Seek.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>The bike is Jimmy’s but Robert drives. A racer, all black and sleek. Too fancy for a kid really. Jimmy’s getting lanky so it’s hard now to keep his feet up when Robert’s giving him a backie, but they manage. Robert likes the feel of the long muscles in his thighs pushing up the hill and then they can just let the bike zoom down to the river like flying.</p><p> </p><p>They leave the bike in the hedge and clamber over the stile. Robert jumps off the other side but Jimmy pauses, standing high to survey their empire. He’s wearing some sort of crickety clothes. He wears the oddest things, but they always look so good. Like adventures. Robert has got shorts that are too big and a tshirt that is too small. He will take the shirt off now. He didn’t want to be bare chested on the bike in case they came right off it and he got welted with gravel like last time.</p><p> </p><p>Gym pumps off too. They are cheap and sweaty and have to last. The meadow grass is soft and full of flowers he would not tell anyone he knows the names of, but he does. Robert likes the feel of them as he crouches in the grass. He knows lots of secrets about this place, this land. He knows not to let on how often he goes to the library where it is quiet, and the ladies are stern but kind, and smile when he goes into the silent reading room. He hasn’t even shown Jimmy that he presses flowers at home and writes about them in a notebook which he hides under his bed in case his dad finds it and calls him a poofter again. He’s not sure what that is but Robert suspects it might be something nicer than his old man. Maybe now summer has begun he can keep his books down here in the hedgerow.</p><p> </p><p>He’s been woolgathering. Jimmy’s feet are right there in front of him and he didn’t even hear him. Brown T bar Clarks sandals. Does he choose them or is that his mum? Barmy. Robert unwinds to his feet and strips off his shirt. It’s glorious. So quiet. Like Jimmy. Jimmy makes Robert feel like hugging him so often. His mates don’t do hugging any more because it is for babies. You can hug when someone scores a goal or if their gran dies. Jimmy can make you feel like both those things even when nothing has happened. Even just walking through a meadow, like they are in the Shire before the Black Riders came.</p><p> </p><p>“Wearing socks in your sandals is daft Jimmy.”</p><p> “Well your feet are like hooves or something but mine get sore.”</p><p> “Cos you are always indoors standing on carpet lah-di-dahing.”</p><p> </p><p>Jimmy looks at Robert like he is an exasperating child, but he butts their shoulders together fondly. Wooly in his creamy tank top. Long crisp shirtsleeves.</p><p> </p><p>“Well I unfortunately go peely and red while you just go goldenbrown so…”</p><p> “Because you are an elf.”</p><p> “What? Elves get sunburn? Really.”</p><p> “Well they are always in forests in the gloom so no they don’t get sunburn, but they would”</p><p> </p><p>They meander. Jimmy considers forests and gloom.</p><p> </p><p>“But Legolas goes everywhere doesn’t he?”</p><p> “He’s braver than you is why.”</p><p> “Ha Ha. Bugger off. Anyway, Strider had boots I expect, and a cloak with a big hood. He didn’t waltz round with his pumps on a string around his neck. If you stand on a bee you will be wishing you had better attire.”</p><p>“Attire!” Robert bows with a flourish.</p><p>“It's the word - don’t pretend you don’t know it. You read more books than I do. I’m an elf so I have raiment...”</p><p> “You have a broomstick up your bum.”</p><p>“Don’t. I’m just… being noble.”</p><p>“Well I end up as the bloody king so…”</p><p> “Well now you’re just a scruffer - sorry a Ranger.”</p><p> </p><p>Jimmy isn’t really stiff, Robert thinks. He’s elegant in some ways, but a little like he is slipping away into another world. Like he’s not sure he wants to stay in the ordinary one. Robert likes their street, likes being from somewhere. He likes getting sweets in a goodie bag from the Outdoor. He likes footie or a whole crowd of them playing ackee 1 2 3, likes to be right in the centre of everything, carried away. Nothing is like being lifted up by that ocean of people at Molineux - high on uncle Peter’s shoulders. Ron Flowers all golden hair and amazing legs. He shoots. He scores. Crowd goes wild.</p><p>Nothing except Jimmy. Being with Jimmy is another world. One that shimmers like heat haze off tarmac on a hot day. Like dragonfly wings.</p><p>“You’re ethereal. I… I like elves Jimmy”</p><p>Jimmy quirks up his eyebrow. Wondering what new thing Robert is on about now most like. Robert wants to do something special for Jimmy. Just them.</p><p>“Let’s make garlands. Elfcrowns.”</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>They don’t even make it to the river. The sky is already endless. Lying in the grass Robert feels himself growing. Photosynthesis. Well he is a Plant. Jimmy is a Page – full of words, but he can’t get them out of his mouth quickly. He’s good at exams though. Scribbling and remembering. Robert is fantastic or rubbish. Distractible they say. He doesn’t want them to go to different schools, but the tests are done already, and even if they can find a four-leaf clover, it can’t make a difference now.</p><p>Jimmy has found some good flowers. He kept going even when Robert flopped down to loll about. The back of his neck is going pink already and the tips of his ears. He doesn’t know how to do the garland though. Robert likes girls and ladies. Likes to sit with his mom when the ladies are doing bridesmaids things, getting ready for Church Parades, even though it is Jimmy’s mum who goes to church and not his own. They make things for the nice girls, his mom, the aunties. Quick hands and rude jokes they think he doesn’t understand. But he’s starting to.</p><p> </p><p>“Look first you make a circle, sorta twist it into a rope. Easy.”</p><p>“Then what? I can’t let go or it springs apart.”</p><p>“Lemmie, look you-under-over-under it. See?”</p><p>“Right. Like guitar strings.”</p><p>“What strings?”</p><p>“When you get a new guitar string it is coiled up like this. Looped up in a packet.”</p><p>“Oooh. Who’s got a guitar?”</p><p>“Mr Reid. At choir we are trying some contemporary numbers.”</p><p><em>“ </em>What like…</p><p>
  <em> Precious Lord, take my hand,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Lead me on, let me stand,</em>
</p><p><em>I am tired, I'm weak, I am worn.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>“Lovely, Who is that?”</p><p>“Lonnie Donegan. Mom likes him.”</p><p>“Really? <em>Your</em> mum.”</p><p>“Yes <em>my</em> mom. She likes Elvis. All the aunties like Elvis Jimmy, not just little babbys like you.”</p><p>“Like you. Only little boys have pretty hair.”</p><p>“I like my hair. Stops me getting earburn.”</p><p>“Won’t stop you getting a snakeburn.”</p><p>“Gerrof. It’s all pinged apart now you prat”.</p><p> </p><p>Jimmy pauses. Now Robert’s garland looks like the flower girl fell over on it. Jimmy shuffles closer. Cowslip, <em>primula veris</em>; Ox Eye Daisy, <em>lucansomething vulgare</em>; Field Poppy, Robert can’t remember the posh name. Jimmy pulls one free and threads it into Robert’s curls. And another. Another.</p><p>“What if I just poke them in your hair?”</p><p>“Tickly. S’nice. I was only teasing.”</p><p>“I know Robert. You look pre-Raphaelite.”</p><p>“Well I’m not going to squelch around in a ditch like that mad wench. Not even on a hot day.”</p><p>“Oooh. Can you imagine. Sorry mum I lost my pumps playing at drowning myself.”</p><p>“Oooh. Sorry mom I’m a bit pondy, I was doing Shakespeare with our Jimmy.”</p><p>“So you <em>were</em> listening in class.”</p><p>“I was. I want to stay with you. Go to the grammar.”</p><p> </p><p>They work on in silence. When the fates spin your destiny, do they chat on among themselves like the aunties? Is that why some people get a life like Robert’s finished garlands, nice and round and sturdy. While other people get one that’s falling apart like Jimmy’s crown. The one which has the most beautiful flowers. Jimmy has a good eye for picking pretty things but he’s not concentrating. He’s beetling his brows and looking bothered. </p><p>“Robert. Am I really?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“<em>Our Jimmy</em>”</p><p>“Course bab. Course you are.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p> </p><p>Past the church yard, over the hill. The houses and roads fall away and the land underneath spreads out in squares of fields and hedgerows like the cardie of a sleeping giant. If you cross a couple of fields you can see his wide silver belt of a river. Where it curves in an S there’s an island sticking out like the buckle. The winter floods have dragged rocks and sun silvered branches and piled them up between the shore and the island. If you know how, you can get to it with dry feet.</p><p>On the island there’s a willow tree. It’s enormous, ancient, it creates a dome over the packed earth beneath, and its branches brush the water. Crossing from the shore is like going through a waterfall and coming to a green cave. But you can also haul yourself up inside from the river, and Robert has plans in this respect. The branches and leaves never stop dancing and whispering, the dappled sun never stops trying to trickle through the gaps. Light paints the dark earth below with sparkles of gold.</p><p>Robert found it yesterday, after leaving Jimmy home for teatime. Jimmy is always on the clock like that factory his dad is a boss at. It’s nice rambling in the summer. But not when you get home and tea is in the bin because dad threw a fit and there’s no money for chips. Not when mom is just staring at the wall with puffy eyes. Or worse. When you just have to make jam butties and sneak upstairs in case everything shatters.</p><p> </p><p>Robert goes wandering often after leaving Jimmy at his house. He says he must go in too, but he doesn’t. He never wants to go home. Well he does want to, if it were different. If it was always like Saturday dinner time when dad is at the pub and the aunties are listening to the radio. Or the times he is poorly, and mom watches old films on the telly with him snuggled in a blanket. Dad has money for things when he wants them. Shiny new set from Radio Rentals for the boxing. Robert has seen Elvis for real. When dad was out. </p><p> </p><p>He used to stay out in the street at all hours with the other kids. King of the castle. It’s amazing how you can make people laugh even when you are sad in your insides. He doesn’t so much anymore. Kids witter on about the same old three things. They like checking they all like the same. It makes Robert feel if he can’t be with Jimmy then he’d rather be alone. The days are long and the fields are dry, and quiet. His thoughts are quiet too. And even when Jimmy’s not there beside him, Robert talks to him. Doesn’t tell anyone. Not even Jimmy. His Jimmy.</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>Robert feels his knowledge of the willow like a lucky pebble in his pocket. He will wait to show Jimmy. It will be the end of the adventure today and Jimmy will be so pleased. A place of their own. A den. A hideout.</p><p>Robert takes Jimmy’s hand and pulls him through the meadow grass that is up to their thighs.</p><p>“Where are we going then?”</p><p>“You’ll see. Do you trust me?”</p><p>“Maybe.”</p><p>“You do though.”</p><p> </p><p>Jimmy does that thing where he peers through his fringe. Robert thinks he might be trying to grow it so he can slick it back. If his mum will let him.</p><p>“Do I?”</p><p>“Suit yourself.”</p><p> </p><p>It’s so easy to make Jimmy pout.</p><p> </p><p>“You know I do. Don’t be impossible Robert.”</p><p>“You like impossible.”</p><p> </p><p> He does but he won’t say. Jimmy looks up like he is following a bird in flight. He’s blushing.</p><p> </p><p>A bear hunt. That’s what they used to play as kids. He supposes they are hardly kids anymore. The future divides before them. Two roads. Grammar School. The high school. Weeks of waiting. Weeks still to go. No doubt for Jimmy, but for himself the future lies uncertain.</p><p>He’s not worried. You can always change the road you are on. Life is just like that. They will be together though. Arwen gave up her immortal life for Aragorn. Robert would do the same for Jimmy. But Jimmy is his elf. His beautiful dark eyed elf. Does it matter who gives up what for who when it feels like forever?</p><p>The land opens out before them. The river, wide and slow here. The little shallow pebbly beach and the deep loops laying down their silt. The land is clay and soft. Something you can mould in your hands. Robert feels sticky and wilted with the heat. Jimmy looks cool like clean sheets despite his talk of sunburn. Robert wonders if he should just push him in the water and get it over with, but Jimmy can’t swim and he doesn’t want to startle him. Well not too much. Not today.</p><p> </p><p>Robert strips. Clothes are just annoying. He would wear a big fur cloak in the winter - but in summer what is the point. The new hairs on his legs are going golden too. Jimmy underneath probably looks like a goose egg. All pale and fragile.</p><p>Jimmy is looking him up and down. Robert will just push him in if he says anything sarky.</p><p> </p><p>“Cummon then.”</p><p>“I’d rather not.”</p><p>“You will though.”</p><p>“Will I.”</p><p> </p><p>“Have a paddle then, like a granny.”</p><p> </p><p>Robert crouches on a warm rock just watching the river run before he gets into the delicious cool.</p><p> </p><p>“You look like an otter.”</p><p>“When did you ever see an otter in Birmingham?”</p><p>“In the library.”</p><p>“Ha. What was it doing there? Did it have a hat on?”</p><p>“You think you are so droll.”</p><p>“I am though. On guitar, Jimmy 'The Library' Page.”</p><p>“Robert, I shall hardly be playing guitar in the library now, will I?”</p><p>“That’s what you say though.”</p><p>“What.”</p><p>“Like… like pirates or something. If you are in a band. Like on saxophone, Long John Silver! On guitar, Jimmy 'The Library' Page!”</p><p> </p><p>“Who would you be?”</p><p>“And on vocals. Ladies and Gentlemen, myself, Little Robert Anthony! Thannkyaaveriiimuch…”</p><p>“Robert, that’s rude!”</p><p>“Nah… that's what they call me. The Aunties.”</p><p>“They do not.”</p><p>“They do, and they give me a shilling. And sweets. And then I do a turn.”</p><p>“Not bare you don’t.”</p><p>“Well not since I was four!”</p><p> </p><p>Jimmy ignores him then like his brain has gone mushy. He can never keep up in words. It’s delightfully easy to win. Robert wades into the river ignoring the silt between his toes. The current is so lazy and the deepest part is only up to his chest. The water spreads out glassy and slick.</p><p>Jimmy is watching. Half smiling, half frowning from the sun in his eyes. It’s like doing a turn. Like singing. Being somebody for Jimmy. They are like a pair. Robert does things and feels Jimmy magic on him. Like Jimmy is learning by his doing. And Jimmy is the same for him. Doing things with his head that are so unexpected.</p><p>Looking back to land. Jimmy has rolled up his trousers. Put his socks in a pair no doubt. Folded them. He dabs along the edge of the water like a heron, hands behind his back, beaking down to look at things. Robert goes under and comes up further towards the willow. When he bobs up he checks to make sure Jimmy is tracking him. Good. A second time. Nearer. Three times is what you need for a story. He dives the most he can. Lets the current help. A slight bend and he can reach the tree roots in a few strokes. Clambers softly up and under the drooping branches. It’s like a cave in here. A green cave. The place behind a waterfall of leaves. The catkins like silver-grey silky pearls. He can see but not be seen. Yes. Like an otter. Jimmy was right. Jimmy is always right. Eventually.</p><p> </p><p>Jimmy’s looking now, looking. Can’t see Robert. Hopping about. Funny. Oh, now he’s worried. He’s wading in deeper. Oh no Jimmy, don’t be daft. Look here, look here… Under the blooming willow, bloomin lummock! - Can’t he hear Robert thinking like he usually can?</p><p>Now Jimmy’s getting frantic. This wasn’t the way. Flippin heck, he’s slipped!</p><p>Back into the water. Easy for Robert. Hard for Jimmy - he’s splashing, kicking, panicking. Even though you can put your feet down.</p><p> </p><p>“S’alright, Jimmy, calm down! I’ve got you!”</p><p> </p><p>Jimmy struggles for another few seconds like he’s gone blind, until Robert holds him tight, tight as he can, makes Jimmy safe. Robert drags them both up on the island.</p><p>Jimmy’s all soaking and ridiculous. He’s also trembling and wide-eyed from the fright.</p><p>Well, that spoiled the surprise a bit.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re alright.”</p><p>“Couldn’t you see me looking for you? I thought you’d gone under, you bloody twat! What was I supposed to do? How was I supposed to help you? You know I can’t swim! I thought you’d drowned! You’re a fucking bastard Robert Plant. You’re a mean pig.”</p><p> </p><p>Robert lowers his head.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry, I didn’t think”</p><p>“You never think. I have to do all the thinking.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m sorry.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“I do not care one bit.”</p><p> </p><p>Out come the puppy eyes. They have two effects at the same time. Make Jimmy stop being so mad. Make Jimmy mad about it. But Robert can’t help how his eyes look, can he? Well, they worked. Again. Jimmy might be huffing and puffing, but at least he’s not screaming.</p><p>He’s not only soaking wet but also muddy now.</p><p> </p><p>“Christ, what’s mother going to say?”</p><p>Jimmy is still as barmy as he was at nine years old. All buttoned up into a velvet suit. Well who the heck wears white to play out. Can’t help Cheshire cat smiling at him. Can’t help loving him. </p><p> </p><p>“I suppose you think this is dreadfully amusing,”.</p><p>“Sos.”</p><p>“Well you don’t look very dignified either do you? Wild thing.”</p><p>Wider smiles now. Robert loves this part when Jimmy is mad but can’t help saying special things.</p><p> </p><p>“Take your things off now, Jimmy, you’re making it muddy.”</p><p>“What.”</p><p> “Taddah! Was a surprise.”</p><p>“What was?”</p><p>“Here.”</p><p> </p><p>Jimmy looks for the first time. The air is green. The leaves whisper like at church, but prettier. Like a bower.</p><p>Jimmy looks and looks. Robert looks at Jimmy. Nothing was spoiled in the end.</p><p> </p><p>“You like it?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“It’s perfect.”</p><p>“Sod off.”</p><p>“No, it <em>is</em> perfect. Rivendell”</p><p> </p><p>Robert is too delighted for words. Even better than he hoped. With Jimmy, this is usually how things end. Better if they go wrong first actually. Then he relaxes.</p><p> </p><p>“Isn’t it the <em>hobbits</em> though, that have to go in the water, escaping?”</p><p>Jimmy has a low opinion of Hobbits.</p><p> </p><p>“With the dwarves in barrels. Bilbo you mean?”</p><p>“Well this was not quite awful enough to be that marsh with all the dead people. Not quite.”</p><p> </p><p>Robert laughs, and a moment later, Jimmy laughs too. He’s still pretty with his head back like that. Not handsome. Bet they put him at the front in that choir.</p><p> </p><p>“Suppose I better fetch my shorts.”</p><p>“If you can find them.”</p><p>“You never.”</p><p>“Can’t say.”</p><p>“Jimmy Page. You’re not as innocent as you look”</p><p>“Robert Plant - you’re not as rude as you look.”</p><p>Jimmy smirks, smug. Vindicated.</p><p> </p><p>“No shorts then! Who needs them anyway.”</p><p>Robert lies on the ground, hands under his head. It’s quite lumpy, with the roots and all, and in the shade, no grass grows. Doesn’t matter, he’s proving a point.</p><p>The wet clothes stuck to Jimmy must make him uncomfortable. With extreme prejudice, he starts stripping. He steps out from under the tree and lays his clothes to dry on the pebbles, where they won’t get so muddy. It’s still going to be a disaster. Poor Jimmy.</p><p>So white. Keeps his underpants on though they got wet too. Covers himself when he realises. Long arms. Robert keeps his lids low and pretends not to be watching. Jimmy runs to the willow cave, and sits all curled up on himself, hiding.</p><p> </p><p>“I can see your ribs,”</p><p>“Stop staring.”</p><p>“Not staring.”</p><p>“Well stop looking then!”</p><p>“Are you shy cos you’ve got short and curlies growing now?”</p><p>“Not funny. Why does it matter what a chap looks like?”</p><p>“Well footballers just get their willies out. Go in the big bath all together. It’s what blokes do Jimmy.”</p><p>“They are called<em> privates</em> Robert.”</p><p>“What got your knickers in a twist. You look nice. I was teasing. I just think you want a bit more muscle on you. If you get a guitar, you’ll want to be able to pick it up."</p><p>“Stop picking on me…”</p><p> </p><p>Robert has broken the day. If you don’t break it the first time keep trying. He really is useless. Stupid. Like his dad says, why have another kid, just look at this one.</p><p> </p><p>He doesn’t ever want Jimmy to feel like. That. But reaching people with words is all he is good at. Getting a reaction. Jimmy Jimmy Jimmy. Please No.</p><p>His body is lovely. An elf body not a plain old boy body like Robert. A body going all new and uncontrollable.</p><p>He dreams of Jimmy and wakes up wet and it feels secret but right. Like this place. Special.</p><p>His hands feel fumbly but maybe it is ok to hug in Rivendell. In paradise. Before god said to put clothes on. Robert feels sorry for the serpent. All it was doing was asking the people if they wanted to know stuff. Why are libraries so respectable if you’re not meant to know things? </p><p>Jimmy is all tucked away like a snail. His back turned just like a shell. Robert put a snail on his arm once and felt it walking. It gave him goosebumps. When he waited it put out its little horns. Jimmy is like that, leaves a silver trail across his skin. It’s meant to be disgusting but it isn’t. People are just liars for no reason.</p><p>Robert puts a hand on Jimmy’s back. He doesn’t say sod off. He isn’t happy though. Snails need you to be patient. He will count to 100 then go find him.</p><p>47 and Jimmy presses back against his palm. 58 and he curls sideways. Lets Robert’s arm go round him. 103 and he curls against Robert’s chest. Robert’s heart might pop. 144 and Jimmy says,</p><p>“I am scared about big school. I don’t want to go and shower with lots of people. I don’t want to be naked.”</p><p>“You’ll be alright. You’ll be with me.”</p><p>“But what if I’m not though.”</p><p>“Well then I'll make sure they know whoever bothers you is bothering <em>me</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“Gosh, Robert it's not that. You don't understand.”</p><p> </p><p>No, he doesn’t. Robert keeps quiet.</p><p> </p><p>“You are… Umm… it’s like you have an invisibility cloak but it is the other way around. People look at you and they see Robert but they don’t see <em>my</em> Robert. But they give you safe passage. Like Strider when everyone thinks he’s just some fellow. I feel like Gollum. I don’t want people staring.”</p><p> </p><p>Robert can’t speak. This is a terrible lie. Jimmy has a terrible lie in his brain. This is worse than when people think West Brom are better than Wolves. It is worse than his dad’s nasty jokes and calling him Blondie and Shirley.</p><p> </p><p>“Jimmy”</p><p>God, he sounds like a goldfish.</p><p>“You are not Gollum you are <em>Arwen</em>.”</p><p>He hugs him tight like in the water. Jimmy can’t swim and he’s got lies in his brain and today is all a bit much.</p><p> </p><p>“A girl elf. Thanks.”</p><p>“No Jimmylove. The bravest elf.”</p><p> </p><p>Jimmy is crying. Gulpy crying. It’s very worrying because is that what somebody would do if they felt better?</p><p> </p><p>“Robert, I don’t feel like everybody else. I don’t feel brave.”</p><p> </p><p>He did a bit of a smile though. All is not lost.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re braver than me. Look my hankie is in my shorts so I can’t give it.”</p><p>“I won’t like school.”</p><p> </p><p>Barmy. His Jimmy is still barmy.</p><p> </p><p>“But you like it here. Nobody likes school Jimmy. Your brain is gone on the blink.”</p><p> </p><p>Jimmy’s face softens for the first time in a while.</p><p>“I like it. Here. Lots. You are good at finding magic.”</p><p> </p><p>“Where are my shorts though?”</p><p>“You’ll never find them. My magic is stronger.”</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This chapter is set in the summer of 1957. At this time most English schooling was selective  - this meant taking an exam called an 11+ when you were in Jimmy's case, a January child, at 11 and Robert, and August babe, at 10 years old. We have split the difference between RP and JP's real ages to put the characters in the same year at school. So here, if they pass they go to a single sex grammar school to 16 or 18 yrs (for an academic education) - and if they fail they go to a 'secondary modern' high school (supposedly for a technical education, but often just a second rate one). </p><p>In this AU they are in some edge of rural unnamed suburb of Birmingham (The Black Country where RP is from is not the same thing). Even a smaller grammar could be a very intimidating prospect for children. 11+ exams have been soundly disproved as a fair way to 'select' children - but they still happen in some parts of England now.   </p><p>The lyrics Robert sings are from Take My Hand Precious Lord a B side of Lonnie Donegan's 1956 cover of the 1932 hymn composed by African American Methodist Thomas Andrew Dorsey.  Dorsey combined Black Baptist gospel with Jazz and Blues which was controversial as the latter were 'worldly music' - this tradition was deeply influential on many Zeppelin songs as many of you will already appreciate. Lonnie Donegan in 1957 was influential to a whole generation of people, who like the punks after them, learned to play 3 chords and formed a skiffle band. Jimmy Page among them. </p><p>There are a few scattered Led Zeppelin allusions in the chapter but we want to emphasize that this is not one of our canon engaged fics - Jimmy and Robert's lives, and especially their parents, are not even being alluded to. They are all made up so we can tell this story of two boys falling in love. </p><p>We hope you like this longer chapter - as always feel free to chat, comment, argue, squee, and chat to each other in the comments. Fandom is communal. Hope you are all staying safe.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Fingertips</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Something is changed. The June evening shadows are lengthening already. Robert will be worried. Or not there. Please be there. Taking the guitar everywhere slows him down, but the guitar is starting to feel like something he is. And he wants to show Robert.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The time flew away. That’s accurate. Time has wings now when he plays. At first it was stuttering, stumbling. It was so frustrating, being unable to make the sounds as they are in his head. Today, though. It was like his hands were playing, not his mind. And his mind took flight like a small bird. Like a sparrow flying through light from a stained-glass window. Jimmy stopped believing in god around the time he stopped believing in the tooth fairy, but something about music fills him like that. Faith. In the beginning was the word. Sound. In the beginning is sound. And then in the darkness. Light. Robert. Please be there.  </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Under their willow. It’s called a weeping willow but there’s no weeping here. It’s still the place where Jimmy feels safe two years on. Soon the school days will be over and their summer life can begin. In the circle of Robert’s light nobody harms him, school is merely an inconvenience. But here is still a place apart. Something he craves. In the school yard Robert never stops talking. It’s like he weaves a web of words around him and the other boys feel pulled in and spun and bound by them in some way. Jimmy feels it most, but he’s too shy or too awkward to join in - even though his place at Robert’s side is understood.  But here, under the willow, Robert falls silent. Here, Robert listens. Jimmy leads.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jimmy ducks down and under the branches where their going in and out has worn down the ground like a deer track in the woods. The willow is in full lush foliage, bowing all the way to the ground. It’s like pushing up under the full skirts of a bridal gown. Pushing his guitar carefully in front, he slips inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robert is lying on his back on the tartan blanket they scavenged in the spring. Arm across his eyes. Knees up, thighs splayed. An open book under his hand on his chest. School shirt untucked. Tie stuffed in his pocket. Dreaming or setting a trap, it’s hard to tell. His mouth looks like this even when he is deep asleep. Jimmy doesn’t walk into traps, but he finds himself caught. For the first time that day, he wants something in his hands that is not the guitar, and he sets it aside. Kneels by Robert’s side. Looking.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He parts Robert’s hair and pushes it back behind his ears. Nobody else has hair this long. Robert’s parents don’t care enough about him to make sure he looks neat. Jimmy cares.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robert stirs, unblindfolding his arm off his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Pagey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your legs fall off?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I’m not even here. You’re dreaming.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You Stella Stevens then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a second Jimmy wants to say yes. He feels hot. Robert grins.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Must’ve had yer hair done. Daring move going brunette.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jimmy just isn’t as quick at this. But Robert leaves gaps. Waits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well you look fetching, Barbara Windsor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robert juts his chin, giving kudos. Ruffles his own hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus. Got bloody sticks in it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Squirrels…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jimmy picks the new book off Robert’s chest, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Knights Fee</span>
  </em>
  <span>, It has the library card still in it. Robert can get it stamped out, but he never does. Jimmy starts reading out loud the way they have done for years now, since they had to run their fingers under the words. Sometimes they swap in the middle of a sentence - Jimmy passing a book to Robert like it is a gift, Robert lobbing it at Jimmy like it’s a football. Bevis and Randall have just had a brawl and now they are making up. Jimmy can’t imagine fist fighting with Robert. They never have once. Jimmy reads till his feet go pins and needles from his sitting on them. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So Bevis had wanted to be friends after all..."Bevis" Randall said in a small cracked whisper "Oh Bevis" and could say no more because his throat was full of tears as well as the taste of blood. And then the wonderful thing happened; for Bevis suddenly reached out and laid a hand across his shoulder...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Robert has pulled himself up. Arms looped round his knees. Jimmy notices the lace on his left shoe is undone and Robert is playing with the end of it like his fingers need something to distract them. Now the boys are sharing ancient time scones. If Jimmy had been Norman, and Robert had been Saxon, would they still love each other? Love. It tastes sweet in his mouth. Friends. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Randal licked his thumb, his tongue enjoying the sweetness even while the deeper part of his mind was still full of the thing that had happened between him and the boy beside him, Through the berry laden branches of the elder tree he could see the turf hillfort, raised when the world was young...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jimmy puts the book down. The way Robert was watching him. Eyes on his lips as he’s reading. As though Jimmy’s mouth is sticky. His own in that half smile he has when he’s daydreaming. The dappled light on his skin, green on gold. And Jimmy just... reaches out his hands, as though somebody might if they were cupping them to put them into a waterfall. And touches Robert’s hair again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He has never touched him like this, though they touch constantly in small ways. A hand on his elbow, his back. His waist. This time it’s like he is reaching through water falling. Reaching through childhood to now. Jimmy sees the light shimmer. Something changes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He parts Robert’s hair like they part the branches of the willow tree when they come here. It makes his hands shake. This wanting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Robert turns his face into Jimmy’s hand like a foal. He feels Robert’s breath on his fingers. Jimmy’s tie is too tight, a hot flush that is not, he is sure, embarrassment. He feels itchy under his pullover. He feels something. Something he knows the words for but has never used. Even to himself. Even here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes back his hands. Robert juts his chin again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thought you were off courting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is so unlikely they both giggle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well my guitar is quite enchanting if that’s what you mean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oooh well I know you like playing with yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robert pokes him in the ribs and for a second it’s only half a game and the light shimmers again. Robert is still looking at his lips. Listening for something Jimmy is not sure himself if he is saying. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Show me.” Soft, teasing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robert’s voice is changing. Three heartbeats before Jimmy realises he means the guitar. Must mean the guitar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jimmy turns away. Hot faced. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He settles the guitar against himself. His body has this new knowing and he sees his newness in Robert’s eyes. It has always been Robert who could do things quicker, faster. Always Robert who had that grace. Till now. Jimmy tunes the guitar by harmonics, pressing out the sounds one string against the other. Robert watches with his face like Jimmy’s mirror. Delighted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oooh. Magic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holding down the strings feels raw </span>
  <em>
    <span>dah-dar-dah d d dah-dar-Dar</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Robert recognises it. Grins. Jimmy being the lute player at their banquet. The song a real king wrote. Jimmy knows Robert likes history things but he didn’t know it would feel so tingly to watch Robert understand. To see his mouth in that O of appreciation as Jimmy plucks out the notes instead of just strumming. The fat open A string, the slight buzz on the B string that’s hard to hold with his pinkie now that his hands are tired. The way the open high E sings even here where the soft leaves catch so much sound. Watching Robert’s eyes light up at the little squeak of the chord change now that Jimmy does it so deftly. ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>All for my lady Greensleeves’</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He finishes, and puts the guitar away. Lovely as it is, it feels funny to hold it between them. Robert applauds by laughing but Jimmy knows exactly what he means. It’s the same laugh as when someone scores an improbable corner. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Jimmy blows on his fingertips. Sore.  Robert reaches across and takes Jimmy’s hand, uncurls it. Wide eyes, impressed. He shows Jimmy his own, fingers splayed, his long pointy fingers. The pads pink, but pretty much the same as yesterday. Robert doesn’t have his own guitar. He plays the one in the music room at school at lunch time. Jimmy’s is the old Spanish style one his father found in the attic, but he wants a better one already. Jimmy says to Robert his guitar must have been there since they moved in. Robert says he half-thinks it was left by magic, Jimmy had wanted one so badly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robert is looking at him curiously, head still cocked to the side, half smiling. Praising. Appraising.  His fingers still looped lightly with Jimmy’s, turning his hand this way and that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jimmy catches the time on the small watch on his wrist. His sensible, neat, Timex watch. Then Robert turns his hand the other way and it’s gone. Robert’s knuckles look like eyes. The pad of his thumb in Jimmy’s palm soft but insistent.  Jimmy should be home by now but he can’t make himself leave before Robert has to go. Robert never has to go.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>“How long did you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Three hours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow. Did your mum not…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. She said I can play in the parlour.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You haven’t got a parlour. Have you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robert’s thumb. Stroking. His touch is different to his teasing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Gosh Robert. The front room then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Three hours.” Robert looks proud of him, but also a little wistful. “I thought you’d be down by the river.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m here now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robert traces Jimmy’s newly forming calluses with his own fingertips, his other hand gripping Jimmy’s wrist lightly. Jimmy can see his pulse beating at the fold of his wrist where Robert is tourniqueting the vein.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robert turns Jimmy’s hand and puts Jimmy’s fingertips to his lips. He’s like that. Explores things through touch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nobody touches Jimmy at all. Just Robert. He can’t remember his mother hugging him, though he presumes she might have done. Maybe when he was small.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now he has forgotten whether he would welcome it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Robert is welcome.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jimmy wants Robert to know.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wants Robert to open him like a book.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wants to be dogeared in his hands.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His lips feel warm and soft. Jimmy has this ridiculous urge to put his fingers in Robert’s mouth. The thought makes him smirk and Robert catches the look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bugger off, Pagey.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He yanks Jimmy forward. Jimmy shoulders into him and over they go, sprawling and tussling. Robert is on top of him, pinning his shoulders back and squatting up to crouch across his thighs. Jimmy grabs at him, hisses as his fingers slip on the fabric of Robert’s shirt. Robert presses his advantage and grabs both his wrists. He’s growing faster than Jimmy. Putting on muscle as well as height. Jimmy can see the light catching on the hairs over his top lip and along his jaw. Robert slides up onto Jimmy’s belly so he can only half breathe. He can feel Robert’s crotch hot against him and his thighs gripping his sides.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Submit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Say Barley.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. Sod off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jimmy doesn't play these games with other boys. Doesn’t know the rules. But Robert is not his master. Jimmy has his own ways. He whispers so Robert has to lean closer. His face blocks out the fading light. Jimmy is feeling lightheaded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you let me up I’ll show you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, show me from down there.” Grin. “Show me what anyway?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s hard to breathe. Closer. What can he bargain? He’d give him the moon as it is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How to sing with me.” He sounds unsure. Like he doesn’t really want to get away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like your choir?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robert lets his hands go and Jimmy flops back like a bird that has hit a window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t wanna sing like a choir boy, Pagey. Too late anyway.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Robert eases back off his stomach so he can breathe a little easier. Robert astride him makes Jimmy want to push up against him. He has that thought of his fingers in Robert’s mouth again. It makes his belly feel odd, like something is trapped under the elastic of his snake-belt.  He grabs at the hem of Robert’s vest that has come loose in their wrestling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s different ways of breathing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He explores under the bottom of Robert’s vest like his fingers belong to someone else. He touches Robert’s belly, and feels him vibrating like the body of a guitar does on the heavy downstroke. He presses. Trying to feel the right way. The right way to say this. Do this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here. You breathe down here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His fingers brush soft hairs. A line going down from Robert’s belly button that is unexpected. He inches fingers higher. Feels Robert’s diaphragm. His breathing. He is breathing against Jimmy’s fingertips. Pushing against him gently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robert rocks back by inches. Brings his hands up to rest his fingers lightly against Jimmy’s forearms. He finds Jimmy’s eyes. He looks all floaty. Like his face is smudged. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can feel it, Pagey. Music. When I’m with you...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robert isn’t teasing. He sounds a bit shaky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s still gripping Jimmy with his thighs even though Jimmy isn’t fighting back. Then it’s like he falls through Jimmy’s hands and lands against his chest, and he’s making this crooning sound like he can’t help it. It sounds like an ache. Jimmy slips his hands softly to Robert’s sides. Feels the flesh tight between his hip bones and his ribs.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Robert kisses him. Kisses him with sound. Hums against him. Soft warm lips against his own that feel stung and sore like his fingertips. And he can’t breathe and doesn’t want to. He submits. He wants this so much it aches like the ache in Robert’s voice. He feels things click into place the way they do when he has practiced and practiced and practiced and suddenly he can do something totally unexpected. Something that sounds absolutely right. </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He can hear the winding melody that is Robert and his own heartbeat behind; and a jagged thrum of falling notes that slow and then start to echo the song of Robert’s body. The warmth of him. The shimmer. Jimmy uncertainly kisses back. Copying what Robert is showing him. Robert makes small light kisses now. Jimmy feels each one between his legs. Jimmy can feel what is happening to them both. There, where they are pressed together, like two trees that have grown into one. He dare not move.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robert holds back from him. Searching his face. He still looks smudged and now his lips are pink like he’s been sucking an ice lolly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Am I squishing you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shall I stop?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you animal, vegetable, or mineral.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha Ha. Mineral. That’s three questions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How many have I got then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two more”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I kiss you again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time Jimmy kisses Robert first.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The moon is bright over the field. Jimmy carries his guitar like a longbow and arrows on his back. Robert holds his hand to the edge of the houses, until they let go by silent assent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stella.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It means star.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jimmy feels like a star is tucked in his pocket. He butts their shoulders. Says nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re my star, Jimmy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The star in Jimmy’s pocket shines. He will make sure nobody else sees.  </span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Knights Fee (1960 1st edn) by Rosemary Sutcliff (abridged quotes by lbt) p 66 and 71. It is a story of two boys who are training in the knight system at the very end of the C11th when Norman and Saxon people are beginning have a shared English identity. Bevis is a foster boy of the incumbent Knight and Randall was a hound boy, an orphan of low status, who the Knight wins in a bet. Like many Rosemary Sutcliff books the themes of difference, being outcast, and love between the two boys is the emotional center of the book -  and as a queer kid (leds) these books were incredibly important to me and my sense of self. </p><p>Stella Stevens and Barbara Windsor were British actors. Stevens was also a model and RP wrote 'I Cried' about her, including his crush on her when he was a kid. </p><p>Greensleeves is an English Tudor folk song. Many English people, like Jimmy and Robert, think it was written by Henry VIII but historians now think it was a little later (although Henry was a good musician and composer)  </p><p>please as always comment, chat, talk with each other, connect, or just enjoy - these are difficult days (March 2020) and we hope these soft lads bring you sweetness... we love them so much.<br/>&lt;3 Goldragon (Bookie and Leds)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Dancing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>They have not kissed since Tuesday.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jimmy’s uncanny ability to already make a flower crown is greeted with ooos and ahhs by the aunties. They see so little of Robert’s nice friend with the somewhat angular mother they are surprised to find him shy and polite. They thought he’d be a little shit.</p>
<p>Robert has likely stopped him doing any looking down of noses - he has that way about him, Our Robert. Makes everyone melt even though he is a scallywag. Hardly surprising he’s a bit wild. Gladys has her hands full with her old man - even though she only got the one kid she can’t cope, can’t really watch over the boy, poor love. Imagine if she had a house full of them? A blessing really that she can’t have any more.</p>
<p>That Robert will give her lots of grandbabies though. They would be surprised if she can keep him much past sixteen before he gets some wench up the duff. His dad will go spare. He’s no room to talk though, has he?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Robert stands in the doorway. He can hear the twittering in the kitchen and he’s not sure if the aunties let him hear. Want him to know what they know. That maybe they are passing on warnings. He’s not sure it makes any difference in the end. It never seemed to matter before. That sometimes it’s like living with a lit fuse. That he could not bring Jimmy home.</p>
<p>He’s not sure what it means now but it feels like some sort of circle he needs to weave together like the garlands. That little kid he’d met at the wedding, he knows now that Jimmy was just scared. That his snoot and his standoffishness all these years were like the spines on a baby hedgehog. Now he’s growing up. Uncurling.</p>
<p>These last few months he’s softer. But stronger too. His music makes him bolder. It’s time he wasn’t a secret. Robert loves how soft Jimmy is. Like a favorite cardigan. Like the bear his dad chucked out. His hair is lovely. His lips when they kissed goodnight. How softly he looks up at Robert from under his fringe. But the things Jimmy makes Robert feel are not soft. Not at all.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In the other room twin cousins, Jean and Joan, are checking Jimmy out like Robert has seen men appraise greyhounds. They appear to have filed Jimmy under harmless and so sit either side of him making a production line of garlands for the summer carnival. If Robert were to try to sit between them now he'd get giggles, and a good slap for being a cheeky little sod.</p>
<p>Jean did recently grind him against a wall and snog him. Robert thinks Jean has beautiful breasts, but Jimmy is the better kisser. The thought makes him laugh, he’s like James Bond smuggling Jimmy behind enemy lines. Or maybe smuggling him out, like the POWs in that film where they all dig the tunnels. Anthony Steel has gorgeous eyes and a chin dimple like Robert’s own. He’s got a nice arse too, though not as nice as Jimmy’s.</p>
<p>Robert can just stand here thinking scandalous things, it’s a fantastic game. He catches Jimmy’s eye and tries to morse-code his daydreams to him. He succeeds in making Jimmy blush. The twins think Robert is sweet on them. He was. Before he kissed Jimmy. Before Jimmy got him hard. Bloody hell, his hands are beautiful. Twisting the garlands and talking about the Hit Parade. He goes flushed when he’s enthusiastic. Robert can see Joan getting her leg closer and closer. He knows the feeling. It makes him feel kind of fizzy watching somebody else feel pulled to Jimmy. It’s like he wants to show him off but if they get too close, well he might show his teeth. Give them a little nip so they run off.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Tea? Tea Joan? Jean? Jimmy?”</p>
<p>Robert’s mouth feels like sherbet saying his name. Like he wants him to have the chocolate biscuits his mom keeps for best, and the girls can share a cream cracker for all he cares.</p>
<p>Robert bounces up being charming and manages to flirt Joan back to her own end of the sofa where she belongs.</p>
<p>“So, any of you in the parade?”</p>
<p>“We’re doing the ladies in waiting and dressing for the dance, but Alison Connelly is the May Queen.” Joan pulls a face. “She’s got a face like a slapped arse though cos Jason Moss has dumped her. She only got picked because she’s a natural blonde even though she’s Irish. You only need to look at her hard and she gets sunburnt, so she’ll look like a raspberry by 5 O’clock.” No skin off Jean’s nose it sounds like.</p>
<p>Jean likes to gossip like an airhead even though she got a scholarship, and she goes into school an hour early every day so she can practice piano before assembly. Joan is less mouthy unless she’s singing, and then she comes on like Laverne Baker. You’d never guess. Their dad is in the air force. He gets the records that come over from America. Robert can’t really choose between the sisters. They both have their charms. But they can keep their sticky mitts off Jimmy that’s for sure.</p>
<p>“Would you like to come dancing, James?”</p>
<p>Shut up Joan. Jimmy doesn’t need another singer when he has Robert, does he. Stay up your own end.</p>
<p>“You two can take us both.” Jean says it like an instruction. Which it is.</p>
<p>Well maybe she will put his hands up her frock this time. If Jimmy doesn’t mind.</p>
<p>“Alright we will meet you there at eight.” Plenty of time. No chance of being on the back foot if you just go for things. Jimmy will look sexy dressed up. Robert has nothing. Maybe he can fit in Jimmy’s pants. The words make him giggle and Joan gives him a sharp look. Jean gives him a flirty one. Oh Blimey.</p>
<p>“Well, Jimmy and me have stuff to do. Guitar and that. Practice.”</p>
<p>Robert hopes he looks rock and roll and not like a little kid, so he stuffs his thumbs in his pockets and realizes it draws attention to his crotch. Jean and Jimmy are both looking. That’s worth remembering.</p>
<p>“Thank you for the kind invitation. Robert and I will see you ladies at 8pm then.” Jimmy sounds a bit squeaky, but he’s managing full sentences which is a minor miracle.</p>
<p>Robert maneuvers Jimmy outside before he agrees to something stupid like meeting their dad.</p>
<p>Says tarrah to the aunties and pockets a couple of fags from the packet in somebody’s open handbag in the hall. Jostles Jimmy to get a move on like they have a getaway car driver running the motor outside. They slow down at the corner. Robert wants to go to ground. Wants Jimmy to himself now. Mum wasn’t even there though. He wants to tell her things. Tell her Jimmy is. He doesn’t know the words.</p>
<p>“Robert.”</p>
<p>Jimmy is looking at him with such big eyes. His lips just parted. Ask me to kiss you Robert thinks. Jimmy asking is almost better than doing it.</p>
<p>“Robert, I think I have made a rash decision.”</p>
<p>“Does it itch?” Robert knows that’s daft. Even for him.</p>
<p>“Be serious for once.” Jimmy looks startled.</p>
<p>Robert is deadly serious about the kissing. They need somewhere to do it as soon as possible. Jimmy looks a bit pale though. A bit green. That’s not ideal.</p>
<p>“Robert.”</p>
<p>“Pagey.”</p>
<p>“I…”</p>
<p>Oh god what is it. Did one of the twins say something awful. Robert stops dead and gives Jimmy his full attention.</p>
<p>“I… Robert I cannot dance.”</p>
<p>Perfect.</p>
<p>“Let’s go to your house”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Show me”</p>
<p>“But I can’t do it either. Not posh dancing…”</p>
<p>“But <em>you</em> don’t care that you can’t…”</p>
<p>Jimmy brings the needle back to the beginning. Big band 45s on his mum’s Dansette record player that’s he’s set out on the hearth rug in the parlor. Crouching down and looking up at Robert for answers. Too scared to get up and actually move. Robert will fix this. He always does. Robert sprawls on the sofa all splayed out. Rolled up jeans. Long legs. Holes in his socks. Jimmy Dean tshirt too small for him. This won’t do at all for the dance, but Robert seems unconcerned. His eyes just follow Jimmy like he’s the fox and Jimmy is the gingerbread man. Like when they were kissing. When Robert was on top of him and he wanted to. Move. But he couldn’t. They are not kissing. Not since Tuesday.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You can feel it right? It’s Saturday night, tonight. Even your mum lets her hair down. It’s like it pulses. The night. Makes you want to dance. You have to want to, Pagey. That’s all”</p>
<p>“Show me though…”</p>
<p>Robert gathers himself off the sofa. Comes over and stands tall over him. Fox eyes. Jimmy’s belly does that thing again. Robert is. Beautiful.</p>
<p>Robert pulls him up. Bouncing on his toes. Amused.</p>
<p>“So like you put one hand on my waist see? And hold her other hand…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jimmy’s palm feels astonishing where Robert has placed it. Jimmy remembers what Robert felt like under his shirt. He can feel him breathing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s confusing.</p>
<p>“You’re the girl?”</p>
<p>“I’m the girl. What?”</p>
<p>“You’re too tall for the girl.”</p>
<p>“You’re nearly as tall. You don’t need to stand so far away. They don’t mind. Well, don’t mind with me.”</p>
<p>Grin.</p>
<p>Jimmy let’s Robert pull him closer. It’s happening.</p>
<p>He feels effervescent. Like the soda water in the syphon his mum has now for the new drinks trolley. He likes the emerald green of it. The ritual of it. The heavy crystal tumbler. Imagines himself drinking whiskey and soda like his father. They are out at the Conservative club. Mum and Father. Robert’s parents go to the Legion, the rare times Robert’s mum goes out at all. His dad in the public bar. No women or children allowed.</p>
<p>So now Robert is here. While his mum is climbing her social ladder, Jimmy has let the wild thing in through the back door. His Huck Finn. Mum hasn’t said anything about him spending all his time with Robert. He just somehow never says that he does.</p>
<p>Robert’s hand in his hand. Jimmy’s hand resting on his shoulder. Robert smells different. Thicker somehow. Not like a girl at all.</p>
<p>“Why don’t you do the boy then I can copy?”</p>
<p>“Ginger Rogers says she does what Fred Astaire does but backwards in high heels.”</p>
<p>“You don’t need high heels.”</p>
<p>“No?”</p>
<p>Grin.</p>
<p>Robert repositions their hands. Pulls Jimmy even closer. Their tummies are touching. Other places too. Robert sways. The music is swelling up over them both.</p>
<p>“Like this”</p>
<p>Robert’s voice sounds different. Like treacle toffee. He smells of Woodbines. He smells of outdoors. Jimmy smells of Vicks vapor rub because he gets a bad chest easily. He smells of a bath every night whether he needs it or not. Clean sheets and cocoa. Like a child.</p>
<p>He doesn’t feel like a child.</p>
<p>It’s happening again. If he were alone he would touch himself. Would make it happen more. He wants to be grown. He wants to lay his head on Robert’s chest. Is this the same for him? What does he do when this happens with girls? Jimmy goes to pull away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Let it happen Pagey. Dancing is meant to make you horny.”</p>
<p>“I...I...what?”</p>
<p>Grin. Robert pressing them together. Jimmy might die if Robert doesn’t kiss him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Cos it’s like, yknow, lovemaking.”</p>
<p>“Lovemaking? Sod off. Who’s being lah dee dah now?”</p>
<p>“Shagging. Fucking. Sex. Dancing is for sex. It’s like stood-up sex.”</p>
<p>Jimmy pulls away but he’s mesmerized by the words in Robert’s mouth.</p>
<p>“You never did!”</p>
<p>“How do you know?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He would have told him, he would. He would.</p>
<p>“You never!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Not with anyone else”</p>
<p>Grin. Fox grin.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Silence.</p>
<p>Then the tick tick of the run-out groove. Robert said he feels music with Jimmy. He said Jimmy is his star. Why is he waiting? Maybe you have to take turns.</p>
<p>Jimmy changes the record again. This time he won’t pull away. This time if Robert doesn’t kiss him, he will do it himself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Show me again… the dancing.”</p>
<p>Not a fox now. Just Robert. His face looks smudged again. He’s staring like Jimmy is the sun and he is a rose. Like Jimmy just pulled a rabbit out of a hat.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You got a long mirror”?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>---</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Robert stands behind him. Hands on his hips. Close. Swaying him. Jimmy leans back. Robert’s breath against the short hairs at his neck. It smells of perfume in here, and face powder. Mum says too much makeup is slutty but she’s left a lipstick on her dressing table. Jimmy knocked it off putting down the record player and it rolled away under the bed.</p>
<p>Jimmy thinks of Elvis’s lipstick lips. Pouty like a girl’s. Dark eyes. Robert likes the way Elvis dances.</p>
<p>He lets Robert move him, watches himself moving. He looks like a different Jimmy. Who is this person in the mirror tonight? His eyes look different. His mouth, more like Elvis’. Robert’s hands on his hips. He can feel it now. The sway. The pulse. The night.</p>
<p>It’s happening to Robert. Happening to him too. Jimmy doesn’t pull away. This time he is not scared. He hears it. Their rhythm.</p>
<p>He lets his hips move like Robert is showing him. Like fucking. He said it was like stood-up fucking. Can you even? Like how would you? Robert moves a hand to his belly. Keeps him close against him. His other to Jimmy’s chest. He must feel Jimmy’s quickened breathing.</p>
<p>Robert kisses Jimmy’s neck. It’s like all the lights go out and he’s falling through stars.</p>
<p>If he was alone he would. If he was alone he would. If he was, he would touch himself. He would. Think of Robert. Think of touching Robert.He pushes back against him. He feels, rather than hears, Robert gasp. That ache again. Nothing has ever felt as right as touching Robert.</p>
<p>Jimmy bites his lip. He’s moving. They are moving. Is this? Like fucking? Is this? In the mirror. He sees himself. Sees them. It smells of perfume in here. Robert is hard against him. Against his bum.</p>
<p>He turns round in Robert’s arms. Close. Robert just holds him. Like the willow tree. It’s happening to them both. Let it happen. He said. He said. Did he mean? Like can you? Like, how do you? Two boys? He hangs his arms round Robert’s neck. Is he the girl?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They have stopped moving. It’s like he can almost hear the noise of Robert thinking. Jimmy’s holding Robert. Hands at the back of Robert’s neck. Robert is holding him back so softly. Like he might drop him. Robert presses his face to Jimmy’s hair like a foal. It makes his tummy flutter. Warm breath. It’s like guitar. Stop thinking and feel what to do.</p>
<p>He moves. He’s leading. He moves his hips against Robert. Closer. Like when he is alone. He’s not alone. He’s dancing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jimmy brings his hands to cup Robert’s face. Kisses him. Still dancing. Feels Robert miss the beat then find it. It feels melty and warm like candyfloss at the fair. Like being on the waltzers. Robert’s kiss opens up Jimmy’s mouth. Jimmy pushes against him more, it’s easy now. His body wants. He wants. Robert’s tongue in his mouth is a prize. He takes it. He can feel Robert gasp when he presses right. Robert is kissing his neck. Robert sounds like he is running. Under his own pants it feels like before he learned to use his hand. The day he was lying on his belly in the sun and felt that, that undoing, when he moved against the ground.</p>
<p>“Oh Jimmy”</p>
<p>Robert calling him makes Jimmy almost fall over. It’s everything at once. Robert isn’t even trying to do the holding now; he’s clutching at Jimmy’s back. Push pushing. It makes Jimmy feel giant. Making Robert feel things. And then. Then. It.</p>
<p>He knows what it is. Robert has got there. From the dancing. This is the best thing that has ever, ever, happened. Gosh. Really.</p>
<p>Robert does this laugh, this better than a tricky goal laugh. His we won the cup final laugh. His you are the champion laugh. He’s flushing and shaky and laughing. Robert kisses Jimmy and swings him round.</p>
<p>Grin</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Jimmy. Jimmy. Jimmy. Don’t do that with Joan.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chips</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>They don't say what they are doing. They are learning. They have not done kissing every day but three times under the willow they have. Robert cannot say why they do, or they do not. He wakes every morning with Jimmy in his dreams, and even though he wakes up wet he reaches down and makes it happen all over again with Jimmy’s name in his mouth.</p><p>Jimmy plays for him for hours, and when his guitar is in his hands Robert feels touched too. His head is full of lovesongs and his pockets are full of wanting.</p><p>Under the willow, Jimmy’s eyes like deep water. Shirts sticking to bellies. Hands curled together, fingers through fingers like willow warbler’s nests. Soft feather breath. Mouths open like chicks. Baby birds who are hatched but not ready to fly.</p><p>Then Jimmy said ‘mum is out tonight Robert,’ and looked away.  </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Jimmy is answering to his soft knock on the door. Chips hot against Robert’s hands through the newspaper, he waits. He can see Jimmy through the glass like underwater. He loves him. He loves him. The kitchen is in shadow. The back door opens softly. Jimmy. Jimmy smiling. He slips in.</p><p> </p><p>In the shadow Jimmy kisses him. Presses him against the sink. Jimmy isn't shy for him here. Robert’s hands are damp from the chips packet. He smells of vinegar and grease. He wipes his hands down his jeans because he wants to touch Jimmy with clean hands.</p><p>Jimmy is leaning against him. Kissing. He can put his hands on Robert wherever he wants.</p><p>It makes him feel delirious when Jimmy is like this. He just lets his arms hang by his sides. Overcome. He loves him. Loves him. He wants to tell him.</p><p> </p><p>Jimmy is doing something new with his hips. Oh. Oh. Like when he plays guitar standing, he pulls it over onto his hip and rocks with it.</p><p>He's moving against Robert. That feels so good. This is sex. This is what sex feels like. He's getting hard.</p><p>He loves him. They are kissing. The edge of the sink is sticking into his back. It’s painful. His dick is painful too. It’s too much.</p><p>He shifts and Jimmy shifts with him. Like the night they were dancing. That feeling. You just have to want to, right? He wants this too much and the feeling slips sideways out of his grasp and rolls away.</p><p>His hands move on their own.</p><p>Jimmy's bum. His jeans are old and soft and his bum is two small curves now when before he was flat. He runs hurdles when they are in school. Robert has seen him in shorts. His naked thighs like something in one of his art books. Robert can feel Jimmy’s bum moving under his hands. When he squeezes Jimmy kisses him harder and presses more.</p><p> </p><p>Jimmy is feeling it too. Jimmy is hard on him. He can feel his hardness. He can feel his dick on his own through their clothes. This is sex. It feels too high like he might fall. He wants to make a joke and Jimmy to say ‘Robert, be serious for once’. He wants them to be back by the river. Outside.</p><p>Jimmy lets him in on Saturday nights. Through the back door, when his mum is out. He loves him. He wants to tell him. But Jimmy is... Jimmy is pulling him by the hand.</p><p> </p><p>Up the stairs. Everything in Jimmy's house is so very neat. Past the green Bakelite phone. They have a thing you put letters on.</p><p>A mirror with a brush for your coat. Carpet on the stairs. Each step has a brass runner and he counts them like he’s done since he was nine. Stepping in Jimmy's steps like always as he goes ahead. It’s not like always. Not playing.</p><p>He's hungry but the chips are in the kitchen. He feels hungry for Jimmy. It makes you want to lick and bite. Sex does. He wants to lick Jimmy's tummy. Is that strange?</p><p>He wants to see him bare. He wants to stop everything and just look at Jimmy bare. His bare bum. He could stop him now on the stairs. Robert’s head suddenly flashes full of pulling Jimmy’s pants down and he stumbles, grabs the banister. But Jimmy has something in his own head. Robert can always tell when Jimmy has ideas.</p><p> </p><p>Jimmy's mum's room. His dad's too but you can't really tell except they have two beds. Jimmy’s mum’s dressing table with those matching glass thingies on it. The big wardrobe. The one that has the mirror where last week. Oh.</p><p>Jimmy clicks on the fancy lights round the dressing table mirror. Like in an old Hollywood film. Jimmy's eyes are big and his mouth is all puffy from kissing. He’s so beautiful. Should he tell him?</p><p> </p><p>Jimmy swings the wardrobe open. Things jangle on their hangers. It smells like perfume, and lemons, but fancy. His mum must put something in there. Jimmy’s mum is so lah di dah.   Robert realises the smell has been in his dreams since last week. And the smell of Jimmy’s hair and in the curve of his neck just behind his ear. So good it makes Robert want to make a small moan.</p><p>He grabs Jimmy. Not hard but it’s getting difficult not to. He pushes him in against all the silky things. Holding him so he doesn’t trip and rip anything. Kissing. Now he is kissing Jimmy with their mouths open like last week and the moan comes out. This feels so good. Sexy. Jimmy is very sexy. Nobody knows. Nobody but Robert. </p><p> </p><p>Jimmy pushes him off a bit. Ideas. His head is full of an idea. It makes him look sparkly. He takes out a blouse from the wardrobe. Jimmy. It has red flowers on it. Poppies? He would look so pretty in it. He slips it off the hanger but then he’s reaching out to pull. Oh. To pull up Robert’s t-shirt. Jimmy looks hungry now. Tugging up soft cotton. Robert helps. When his head comes back out of his shirt Jimmy is looking at him with black eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, Robert”</p><p> </p><p>He’s holding the blouse tight in one hand but with the other he reaches out and cups Robert’s chest like you do on a girl if she will let you. His hand is cool. Then his thumb touches his nubbin and it feels electric and jolty. Jimmy looks up under his fringe like he’s found a new sound. He’s concentrating. He does it again. Robert wants him to do it with his mouth. Oh. Like a baby does. No. He doesn’t know. It makes his breath pull in and he’s gone goosebumpy. Jimmy slips the blouse on him. It’s silky and perfumey and makes him feel like Caliph Haroon Al-Rashid and Jimmy is his wise vizier. His sexy vizier with eyes like a gazelle. </p><p> </p><p>Robert swishes Jimmy into his arms and the silky blouse slips round them. He feels like Rudolph Valentino. Jimmy kisses his neck where it is bare against the edge of the blouse. It feels like something is melting inside him and running into his pants. Oh god. Oh Jimmy. Jimmy is sucking like he read Robert’s mind but is doing it his own way. Robert pushes his leg between both of Jimmy’s and Jimmy sort of climbs up it, making soft wet noises where he is kiss sucking hard and wiggling. Robert’s ears are ringing and the melting is getting warmer and harder but it’s not tipping over just getting more and there is this clattering ringing loud like an alarm going off and he thinks it is inside his head and his ears have blown a fuse. But Jimmy makes an annoyed exasperated gasp, and runs over to the dressing table to fiddle with a little red box from which Robert realises the noise is coming. Jimmy drops the box and then scoops it up opening it into a foldy up clock. Robert loves him. Loves him. His Jimmy is still barmy. He has set a time-to-stop-kissing alarm.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s eleven, Robert. Mum is always back by quarter past”</p><p> </p><p>“Pagey”</p><p> </p><p>“Um?”</p><p> </p><p>“I love you.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Lost</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s not here, love”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jimmy stands. Hands hanging. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I love you. Pagey I love you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he said. Kissed him goodnight. In the morning Pagey. He would come back. He didn’t. Isn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You alright chick?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine thank you Mrs Plant if you would be so kind as to tell Robert I called for him.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Only one other place but why would he go there if he had to go past Jimmy’s house? Sunday isn’t football. Saturday is football and Wolves had lost at home and Robert wasn’t even sad about it and his uncle has taken him and Jimmy has listened on the radio to the scores because Robert thinks it’s funny if he knows because he is not interested well he is interested but only in Robert being interested which is different but he didn’t even say one thing because Jimmy kissed him…</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Pagey?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Umm?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I love you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jimmy’s heart in his mouth like the travel alarm clock clattering in his hands. He already knew. Has always known. He should have said it back then, but it is like saying the moon in the sky is the moon. It is like telling Robert his own eyes are blue. He should have said it anyway. A spell to keep him safe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Where he had been kissing Robert’s neck there was a bruise, like a tattoo, and Jimmy is glad. Like it says return to sender. Like wherever Robert has got to, there is proof of Jimmy too. Robert is in his bones, in his dreams, in every memory of every street, and lane, and path. But Jimmy can’t feel him. For the first time.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>They walk up the hill and down it twice over, nearly every day, but now the river is not getting any closer however fast he walks, and he might run. Might need to run. To find him. Because Jimmy had tidied Robert away like he was never there and now he has disappeared. Like the lipstick that rolled under the bed. The chip papers in the bin. Like a secret. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Pagey I love you - I will come back in the morning</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He didn’t. Isn’t. He said Jimmy is his star. Something is very wrong because Robert can always, always, find him. Jimmy is his North.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>At the edge of the river Jimmy sees him at last. As the panic beating its wings against his breastbone flies free it is immediately shot from the air and falls. The water looks oily and flat like a dirty mirror, and beside it is a boy who is Robert, but doesn’t move like him. The grey sky has turned to mizzle rain, but this stick person is just standing there, being rained on, like those thin trees they plant in the pavement in cages. When Jimmy gets closer, he can see the stick Robert has got dead flowers in his hands and no fight in him at all. It makes Jimmy want to be sick. It makes Jimmy want to make himself wake up into yesterday. It makes his heart ache with real physical pain.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He reaches out his hand to touch him. To touch his Robert. Robert whirls round like someone is going to hit him hard and he will hit hard back. When he sees Jimmy, he just starts crying down the grubby lines where there have already been tears. Holds his arms out to him. Jimmy feels like he’s falling. Going under water. Like the day Robert found their willow. Robert is his bedrock and now the world is slipping, sliding. He has to. Mustn’t let Robert. Gulps for air. Makes himself rise. Makes himself be Robert. Reaches him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jimmy just holds him, shushes him, wipes him with a hanky. Pushes him under their willow out of the rain. Only Robert’s eyes are crying and the rest of him is the stick boy. Floating downstream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their blanket is all tangled up like a dog was sleeping in it. There are two smoked cigarette butts next to their old falling apart copy of The Two Towers, and Robert’s knife is stabbed into the side of the tree. Jimmy pulls the knife out from their tree. Folds it up and puts it softly into Robert’s hands, but they lie like dead fish in his lap. Jimmy wraps the blanket round him, and holds on to him, till Robert tells. Waits for him like Robert has always waited for Jimmy.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“It wasn’t the hitting. He said things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jimmy knows he means his dad. Knows because Robert is using his sing song voice that he uses to tell lies like ‘I’m fine’.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I climbed out the window. After. A man in the pub said I was going to get Jean into bother. Said she’d been seen with me last week. At the dance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robert’s eyes look like he’s hypnotised or like those people in that Bodysnatchers film they had sneaked in to see. The people who are copies. Jimmy wants to poke him to make him be real, but things are too grave for such silly things. He must be patient like when you hold a scald under the cold tap even after it starts hurting.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Said her dad is his mate and if dad can’t train me properly… he’d do it himself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now Robert’s hands are snakes. Twisting in his lap. Twisting round and round till they stop. When they stop it is worse. Much worse. Jimmy makes himself keep holding. Softly. Inside himself he is shouting shouting shouting, but if he shouts out loud Robert will stop talking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jimmy thinks maybe Robert’s voice has gone away. He is so still. So quiet. But then Robert whispers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad said it is better if he does it, like it was special…”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Robert looks like when you try to be sick, but your tummy is empty. He is grey under his eyes like a ghost has put its thumbprints on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jimmy is really really scared. He will not drown. He will stay standing. He will hold Robert out of the water. The dirty filthy river of hurt his dad has thrown him into.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robert is silent again but then the tears come again and it’s like he can’t see. He’s started shaking. Now his words come out in a flood.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“When he went to belt me… he… saw on my neck. Jimmy. Your kissing. He saw. He was laughing like he’d won something… He didn’t know. He said thank fuck I wasn’t a little queer after all. Said Jean must be a cracker alright. Said I was a stupid cunt though, for picking Jean, cos of who her dad is. A stupid cunt like my mom. But not a queer though. He didn’t…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robert is sobbing. Sobbing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jimmy…. Jimmy… He gave me a beer. After. I had to drink it… He said he was proud of me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I never. I never. Jimmy. I didn’t pick Jean. Jimmy. I picked you… I picked you. I love you. I picked you.”</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Then Robert’s sobbing again and it’s easier than cold words because Jimmy can rock him and hold him. Like he’s seen in films. Like he’s seen the mothers in the park. It’s easier to pretend he can make Robert feel better. It’s easier than wanting to put his fists through windows. Easier than wanting to catch Robert’s dad in an alley and murder him. Easier than being too weak and too stupid to do any of those things.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Saying I love you isn’t possible now. He can’t. Not like this. It’s precious, and only Robert’s. Not part of this horror. So instead he says</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re mine. Always. Robert. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But even as he says it, he knows he already has.</span>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He kisses him then and it’s sloppy and snotty and sad and like rain. But it’s real and it’s choosing. It’s not sex. It’s love.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jimmy pushes back Robert’s hair with both hands. Like putting his hands in a fountain. It isn’t even two weeks that they have known. But they have always known. Nobody else even knows. This is not about something anyone thinks, this is about who they are. Jimmy will guard them. He will be careful. He will keep them safe.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>To the non-Zepp fans: 'That's the way' is one of the most beautiful, most heartbreaking songs you'll ever hear. If you don't know it yet, you're in for a treat. Go find it, listen to it.</p><p>Depending on where you place your emphasis, it can be about queerness, or race, or class divides, or gender divides even (cis or not). Or if you ask the authors, ecology/their fraught relationship with America or some stuff. HOWEVER, master bafflers riddles truth-obscurers that they are, I'm sticking with OUR interpretation of it: it's about any of the arbitrary, cruel barriers adults come up with, fucking up this world and hurting the open-hearted kids who live in it.  </p><p>Full lyrics:</p><p>I don't know how I'm gonna tell you<br/>I can't play with you no more<br/>I don't know how I'm gonna do what mama told me<br/>My friend the boy next door</p><p>I can't believe what people saying<br/>You're gonna let your hair hang down<br/>I'm satisfied to sit here working all day long<br/>You're in the darker side of town</p><p>And when I'm out I see you walking<br/>Why don't your eyes see me<br/>Could it be you've found another game to play,<br/>What did mama say to me</p><p>That's the way,<br/>Oh, that's the way it ought to be,<br/>Mama say that's the way it ought to stay</p><p>And yesterday I saw you standing by the river,<br/>And weren't those tears that filled your eyes,<br/>And all the fish that lay in dirty water dying,<br/>Had they got you hypnotized?</p><p>And yesterday I saw you kissing tiny flowers,<br/>But all that lives is born to die<br/>And so I say to you that nothing really matters,<br/>And all you do is stand and cry</p><p>I don't know what to say about it,<br/>When all you ears have turned away,<br/>But now's the time to look and look again at what you see,<br/>Is that the way it ought to stay?</p><p>That's the way<br/>That's the way it oughtta be<br/>Oh don't you know now<br/>Mama said, mama said, that's the way it's gonna stay</p></blockquote><div class="children module" id="children">
  <b class="heading">Works inspired by this one:</b>
  <ul>
    <li>
        <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26238853">Tiny flowers</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ledbythreads/pseuds/goldragon">goldragon (ledbythreads)</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ledbythreads/pseuds/ledbythreads">ledbythreads</a>
    </li>
  </ul>
</div></div></div>
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